Brian's Journeys: Tian Shi and Another Day in Urumqi

On advice from two travel books I took a day trip up to a hanging mountain lake at 6000 feet, about 40 miles outside Urumqi. The British-published Rough Guide even ventured to call this place "unspoilt"-- a word that I now know has different meanings on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

The morning started with me getting pissed that the 9 am bus hadn't left yet and it was now 9:30. At my pressing, the bus left, drove about 1/4 mile and parked again. We waited some more and then ventured to about 5 other places in town to look for potential riders. At this point, the Chinese tourists who also paid for the 9 am bus had picked up the complaining where I left off. They were more effective and, to my pleasure, let every new person boarding the bus know how they felt. We pulled out of town around 11:30.

The Chinese style of tourism does not appeal to me much, and I don't think it would appeal to most North Americans or Europeans. It is very packaged, or touristy. This is especially true for the natural sights-- they do better with the cultural sights.

While I thought I had just hired transportation to the lake, I actually paid for a tour, with the guide being more like a baby-sitter-- not providing any special insight but instead just making sure we were on schedule and ushering us to the next opportunity to spend money. We first went to a Kazakh restaurant at the unspoilt-lake, then to a fake temple overlooking the unspoilt lake, and then to one of three 40' tour boats that float you around the whole 1/2 mile length of the unspoilt lake. That's where I drew the line. I took off on my own and walked around the lake. I had brought camping gear but had already decided I wasn't sticking around.

The walk around the lake was better, but still nothing special to a guy who has spent a decent bit of time in the truly uspoilt lakes of the Rocky Mountains. The most interesting thing about the lake is that the local Kazakhs summer here. They live extremely traditionally: yurts, semi nomadic, raise sheep and goats. These days they do supplement their income with the occasional tourists-- either for a meal of a night in a yurt.

The most forced of smiles.

There were a few nice sights.

Some Kazakh yurts. They would all offer me food or shelter. I felt bad but turned them down.

Curly-Sue... might have been my dinner had I accepted the invitation from the Kazakhs

A Bad Day Continues

I caught the tour bus back at the end of the day to return to Urumuqi. Unsurprisingly, the tour bus dropped everyone off at a different location than we were picked up. I had no idea where I was. I started walking looking for a main street and stopped at a small Uyghr street stand for some Nang, the bread I like so much. There were a few chairs and after I paid and was saying goodbye in Uyghr I was asked to sit down for tea. I did-- rather eagerly-- and managed to understand they were asking which country I was from. That was the end of the conversation really, but one gentleman insisted I take some photos and I obliged, even handing him the camera to take a few photos of me eating the bread. I put my camera away and tried to continue the conversation, asking where they where from (basically pointing and naming a city). The one fella who took my photo said he was from Kashgar, the most remote of Chinese cities and a bastion for the separatist movement. [Seventeen Chinese police were killed in a bombing there a few weeks ago.] He said it in proud, arrogant way that made me suspicious; he had a strange look in his eye. He continued to stare at me and started making motions to me, mostly with his eyes, that I need to leave. I ignored it at first but as the subtle signals got more animated I decided to leave and I quickly gathered my things and left. As I was leaving he suggested with a hand motion that I cross the street via the tunnel beneath the road-- this is the only way to cross the street. I thought he was trying to tell me there was a hotel up there so I gave a thumbs up and headed for the tunnel, thinking that if I turned, avoiding the tunnel, he would come after me to tell me the hotel is not that way. As I was walking through the tunnel I catch him out of the corner of my eye and he is following me, I look at him and he motions me to continue, a few seconds later I feel something, look down and his hand is one the string to my camera which was hanging out of my pocket. I grabbed his wrist and he let go, motioning that there was something I should take a photo of. I knew it was complete BS, he was clearly trying to pickpocket me. He saw his opportunity when I put my camera away with the string hanging out. That is why he insisted I leave and go into the dark, crowded tunnel. I played along with his photo alibi until I had made some distance between us (note the aforementioned love of knives) before shooting him the asshole look.

It was a pretty upsetting experience for me. Maybe the whole invitation for tea was a come-on to see what I had that was valuable. I hope not. What bothers me most is that had he got my camera he probably would have proudly returned to the bread-stand and showed it off, with children there who would know exactly what happened.

Wow, that's a long pickpocket story.

Here's are some now tainted pictures from the event.